


I'm Following Him

by MartyrJoan



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Gen, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-07 08:23:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18616840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MartyrJoan/pseuds/MartyrJoan
Summary: [Spoilers for Avengers: Endgame]Set at the end of the film. Bucky watches one of his best friends, old and greying, give the other a shield. And then, he realizes he has to talk to the man who has defined his life for what may be the last time.AKA: Why didn't we get to see old Steve and Bucky talk?Small hints of Stevebucky and future Sambucky





	I'm Following Him

**Author's Note:**

> In case the tags and summary didn't tell you: This fic contains Endgame spoilers!
> 
> I don't really like the end for Steve's character that Endgame gave us, but I thought I would try to make it easier to accept by filling in the blanks. 
> 
> I wanted this to come across as two men who have always loved each other but never fully realized it, and now never will. 
> 
> Bittersweet but looking towards the future.

As a kid on the streets when the market crashed and the only shooting stars to wish on were stock brokers leaping from their windows, he knew how to watch and listen. But back then, back when he was -- _younger_ isn’t a big enough word, though it’s true enough -- when he was _Bucky_ and only ever Bucky...he was so often in the center of it all. He could charm the socks off of any dame (or gent, though that was more of a back alley thing, a waxing moon rendezvous) with one winning smile and a cigarette hanging from his lips like a question mark. He _got_ people. He watched from the center of crowds.

 

Then it was from cage bars and rooftops or down the scope of a rifle. He was the cracks in the walls and the ghost in between them. Still, he was always best at watching one thing.

 

One person, really.

 

Bony frame became bulky, blond hair got darker, eyes got heavier but still shined the same. Voice came just as evenly, and it worked its way into his dreams over and over. Bucky watched and listened for him, the way he’d listen for his own breaths or footsteps to keep his cover. He watched his back, fed him through the hardest days, kept him warm through the winters where Brooklyn almost froze over…

 

Once the memories started coming back, in weird lurches, nothing and then whole years, he felt the habits seeping back in. Even in Romania, he’d poke his head around alleys to see if he needed to pull Steve’s stupid, over-eager ass out of a fight. In Wakanda, on humid days he’d find himself reaching for an inhaler to give to an absent, no longer sickly friend whose asthma would have to be acting up.

 

He reminded himself during all these occasions that no, Steve was fine. They both were fine, or working towards it.

 

The first time Steve visited him in Wakanda, when he was on the run and Bucky’s brain was finally fixed by the smartest kid in what he assumed was the whole universe (since apparently aliens exist now?) they had wrestled. It didn’t make sense _why_ or what started it, but they had been talking and walking the hillsides of the country when suddenly they were giddy schoolboys again. They had too much energy and finally the bodies and minds that allowed it.

 

And so, naturally, they had beat the shit out of each other. At one point, Bucky was above Steve, metal fist colliding with his friend’s open palm...when he froze. It felt too familiar, too hauntingly similar to the time _nothing at all_ had been familiar. And his jaw had hung open in horror, just as it had before.

 

Neither of them had said anything or needed to, but they were on their feet again and Bucky was telling him about the oddest goats in the herd he had named, respectfully, “Steve” and “Sam”.

 

So Bucky thought he knew Steve, knew _this_ Steve, the future Steve, the living legend Steve.

 

And, he supposes he does, actually, as the machine doesn’t _fail._ Of course it doesn’t fail. And of course Steve didn’t, either. He got those stones back to when and where they need to be.

 

Yes, he knows Steve, and that’s why he told him he would miss him. Who knew how long he’d be gone; since when had he ever followed a plan?

 

So Bucky wanders off into the mid-morning light that dances on the water in a way he has never figured out, like it’s something living and breathing. He could be in Wakanda if he squints hard enough and pretends.

 

He could tackle that figure sitting on the bench to the ground, if he wasn’t afraid of breaking his his super-soldier arthritic hips. The figure’s hair is greying and thinner, though he sits the same way -- the same way as big Steve, not the way that young Steve with his crooked spine had.

 

Yeah, Bucky knows Steve. Knows him well enough to know that he would remember through all the decades what exact _day and time_ to sit on a bench just to make a damn appearance. And he wants to be angry, wants to ask him why this time or that time or whatever time wasn’t good enough for them to do it together.

 

But he turns his head. And he looks at the confused man beside him. The man who is stubborn and sarcastic and loves to steal his thunder, but is teaching him a new kind of loyalty. And maybe he understands, in a strange way. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t still want to beg for answers and yell at his best friend.

 

He nods to Sam, wanting him to speak to Steve first. There are more important things to tell this man, this hero who has joined the fight again and again, never because he needed to, but because he _wanted to help._

 

It’s some parts selfish too, of course. Bucky has spent years running from Steve, and now the man took almost all the years he has left to do the same thing. He was born a year and nearly three months before him, and they were both uprooted from time and century, and now he can’t face the fact that one of them has aged.

 

He had always supposed, even when dangling their feet from dirty fire escapes as children, that they would either both die young or grow old together.

 

Guess they got neither.

 

But he’s still good at watching Steve, and even with all the time removed, he can tell by his posture, by his gestures, that he is some kind of content. So much of the tension is gone from his shoulders. He watches Steve give Sam the shield, and he feels himself smiling despite himself and the whole twisted circumstance. Sam finally sits on the bench and it looks like the two men aren’t even talking, that they are still and learning how to like that. Bucky wonders if he ever could see silence as anything but an opportunity to strike -- not everything is unlearned so quickly.

 

He lingers to lean against one of the trees, metal hand tapping some rhythm into the bark. He watches a squirrel in one of the upper branches, some prized scavenge held between its paws as it skitters along. A duck swoops down from one of the trees and nearly glides across the surface of the water as it lands.

 

And finally, Sam gets up and heads right to him, the shield still in his hand. Clapping him on the shoulder, he says “I’m gonna take a walk. You know, clear my head.” He gives a slight nod and doesn’t make complete eye contact with Bucky. It was a clear indication of privacy given, but Bucky doesn’t even know if he wants it.

 

By the time he nods, Sam is gone, heading to Bruce to give an explanation. Bucky is thankful for that; he doesn’t know what he could say.

 

Bucky clenches and unclenches his jaw and finally walks over. Some twigs and fallen leaves crunch beneath his feet, and he reminds himself that he is not in danger for it. He stands behind the bench, placing his hands on the back of it to steady himself. He sees Steve glance at him out of the corner of his eye.

 

Neither of them say anything for a while. Bucky watches, trying to see those invisible signs of ailing health that Steve has always been good at covering up. Nothing is too apparent, other than the obvious and usual signs of aging. But there’s no precedent for super soldiers.

 

Steve tilts his head very slightly after a few minutes and says finally, “I’ve had a long time to think about what you might say to me, Buck.”

 

“You really did take all the stupid with you,” Bucky says automatically, a little harsher than he wants to. He almost laughs. “You know, it wasn’t a dare.”

 

Steve gives that kind of nod that Bucky knows he’s smiling, accepting an insult. “It was always a dare.”

 

Bucky exhales sharply and looks away.

 

“It’s a good thing then that there’s no stupid left for you to use,” Steve adds.

 

“If you think that’s the truth, you don’t know me _half_ as well as I know you, Rogers.”

 

There is a pause. The water ripples out behind the duck as it dives down suddenly, having spotted something.

 

“You knew, didn’t you? That I wouldn’t come back then.” Steve asks. It’s clear he has thought about this a lot.

 

“Had a fuckin’ feeling, yeah.”

 

At that, Steve shakes his head, amused, maybe even amazed. He turns his head finally to look at him. His eyes are more washed out, but still that piercing blue. The rest of his face is like looking at a copy of a copy of a worn out copy of the man he knew. Features not as sharp, but not as tense either. It’s even more drastic than the super soldier serum, really. And this man is studying him, a gleam to his eyes like he just found something he’s been looking for. He can feel Steve taking in his presence again, when he’d hugged him less than an hour before.

 

Bucky can’t breathe. There is still so much love there, so much of everything they never said, and never will now.

 

“You knew before I did, then,” Steve says. “At first, it was just going to be one dance, and then…”

 

“And then Peggy Carter happened, yeah i get it,” Bucky says, the smallest touch of bitterness still in his voice. “Was she wearing that red number from the pub in ‘44?”

 

“Oh, some things I’m going to keep to myself, Buck.”

 

“You’re a punk.”

 

“Jerk.”

 

Bucky smiles ever so slightly. Slowly, he walks around the bench and sits down, still staring at the water. Leaning forward, he pretends to study something else intensely, because he needs another subject to watch now, doesn’t he? “Did you ever go see my sisters?”

 

“Yeah, I did. I had to lie low, but...I couldn’t resist. They were happy, you know, eventually. They built blanket forts with their kids like we used to do with each other.”

 

“Did you ever tell ‘em I’m not…” He can’t finish the sentence.

 

“No, I didn’t think you would want me to,” Steve says earnestly.

 

“Huh. Guess you do know me after all.” He couldn’t bear the thought of them knowing, or imagining all the things that were stripped from him. How raw Hydra had made him.

 

“You do know…” Steve’s voice is taking on that paternalistic tone he’s had ever since the commandos, and part of him wonders if he’s had actual children to use that on. “You know your youngest sister is still alive?”

 

“Yeah, I do,” Bucky tries to say it flippantly.

 

“You should visit her.”

 

“Hey, don’t try to lecture me on not _running away from family_ , Steve, when you lef--” Bucky stops himself short, and rests his head in his hands. “Shit,” he sighs.

 

“I am sorry for leaving you,” Steve says, voice quiet again, and he looks up.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky replies, though he can feel some of that resentment slowly chipping away. “Can’t imagine it would do any good to visit her.”

 

“You can’t know that.”

 

“The things that people you love will take you back after...It will surprise you, Bucky.”

 

He wants to say, _I know that already, because you took me back._ But he doesn’t. And he doesn’t want to be anybody’s burden, because he was never worth what Steve risked for him in 2016, against Tony and Zemo and whole damn UN. Not that he expects his sister would have to do that, but she would still have to know what had been done to him, and what he had done.

 

Bucky crosses his arms across his chest. “Alright, I’ll think about it. But if it goes south, it’s your nursing home I’m coming crying to.”

 

“I’ll make brunch,” Steve says dryly.

 

Bucky doubts that will ever happen.

 

He hears footsteps behind him, wandering through the trees. At this point, he recognizes the footfalls of Sam, and he almost doesn’t tense up at the sound.

 

“So this is the end of the line,” Bucky says, voice falling with a kind of finality. It’s not a question.

 

Beside him, Steve makes a noise. He looks over quickly, and to his surprise, there’s some kind of immense sadness passing over his best friend’s features. Steve looks surprised at his own emotion, mouth turned down and brows drawn together, eyes cast down like he is working through emotions he thought were gone.

 

It only lasts a moment, and then the serenity, the smile returns to his features. “Yeah,” he says.

 

Bucky shrugs, pressing his lips together. “Okay.” He clears his throat. “I’m glad you found your happiness, Steve.”

 

“Please...try to find yours.” There is something pleading in his tone then, like he is all but begging on his knees.

 

Bucky takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “What am I supposed to do?” he asks weakly. A bird is singing somewhere behind him.

 

“You’ve always been the bravest man I’ve ever known, Buck. I know you’ll...find it.”

 

It’s more comforting than he thought it might be, to hear that kind of undeserved praise from Steve still, even with all these years between them. More than half a lifetime, and Steve still thinks his own scowling, dirty, wounded friend from Brooklyn has the bravery he always saw that Bucky has never seen in himself.

 

He nods, glancing down at the bag by Steve’s leg that must have held the shield. He glances over his shoulder at Sam, standing at a respectful distance behind them, pretending to busy himself posing with the shield.

 

“Guess I’ll never be too far behind Captain America,” he says. “They’re always too dumb to run away from a fight, need someone on their six.”

 

As he says it, Bucky realizes how right it feels, how much Sam has become part of his life. And this fight...hell, it chose him. He might as well listen to it, as long as the people are right. It’s what he’s always going to be good at, anyway. Might as well try to wash his hands clean by getting them a bit more dirty.

 

He stands then, the bench creaking slightly as he does. Sam approaches slowly, and Steve stiffly gets to his feet as well. He feels himself look Sam over, trying to get a read on him, and he realizes that maybe he already _has_ been watching over someone new.

 

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky says, knowing it may be the last time he addresses the man who has shaped his entire life. He shrugs somewhat helplessly. “Thanks.”

 

And then they’re hugging, all three of them as Sam drops the shield and wraps his arms around them both. They stay like that for a long while, three men torn out of time again and again, fighting alongside gods to fight the hubris of those who think they have answers to the agonizing questions of the universe.

 

There are never any real answers, Bucky knows, tightening his grip on the shirts of his two best friends. There are never any easy solutions.

 

And they will have to be okay with that.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> (I don't know how to address Steve not trying to rescue Bucky in the past from Winter Soldier conditioning in any way that made sense, so I just didn't approach that topic)


End file.
